


Hard On Her Heels

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Boatsex, F/M, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Jonerys Week, Jonerys Week 2018, Longing, Out of Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Smut, jonerysweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: In the aftermath of their heat-of-the-moment tryst, Daenerys awakes the next morning to find Jon missing from her bed. Everyone aboard the ship seems to know what happened the previous night, and even Jon Snow would sooner stare at her feet than look her in the eye. The former king happens to overhear the queen's Hand expressing his distaste for their budding relationship, and Jon decides to take Tyrion's advice to heart the next time he catches Daenerys alone.





	Hard On Her Heels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Longerclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longerclaw/gifts).



> Written for Jonerys Week - Boatsex/Smut prompt and Dedicated to Longerclaw, who is an endless source of helpful information, including that the Jonerys community lacked a proper foot-fetish fic. And so, I decided to take it upon myself to rectify that problem. While I tried to dream-up a believable enough hidden foot-fetish scenario, this most likely still reads as OOC.
> 
> **Warning: If feet gross you out, this fic probably will, too!**
> 
> That being said, If you are typically a fan of my writing but are opposed to foot-related antics, do not, in any way, feel pressured to read! There'll be all sorts of different flavors of smut on the horizon, don't you worry! :P
> 
> Otherwise, have at it, perverts!

The morning sunlight seeped through the cracked slits of Daenerys' eyes as she peeled them open, one after the other. The blankets next to her had been pulled back, sheets wrinkled and pillows dented from where he'd laid beside her the night before. Her grogginess lasted for only a moment until reality came tumbling down like an avalanche, burying her in fuzzy memories of their intertwined bodies the night before.

 

Clutching the covers to shield her nakedness, Daenerys shot up, glancing around her room to gauge whether or not she'd been alone. She had certainly _felt_ alone. Blinking away the bleariness, her heart begged for deeper breaths to counter its sudden, erratic beating. For a moment she thought to dismiss it as just another dream until she took stock—every inch of her poor body had ached, exhaustion clear in each muscle, tendon, _bone_. Even her blood hurt as it sluggishly sloshed through her veins. She brought a hand up to inspect the tangled mass of braids she never bothered to unravel. _Pain everywhere_. From tender scalp to tingling toes.

 

For weeks, or _months_ if she were being honest, she'd hoped for an opportunity to get the brooding northern king alone and between her sheets. Now that the itch had been properly scratched, Daenerys had felt almost silly for giving into what her body craved, possibly to the detriment of her endeavors. _What was she thinking?_

 

 _We sail together_ , she reminded herself. _That's what I was thinking_. It's what Jon had been thinking as well, wasting virtually no time knocking at her door an hour or so after they'd retired from supper the first night aboard the ship. A tingle ran the length of each of her limbs as she thought back to the sight of him as she opened her door. Without so much as a word, he'd mirrored everything running through her mind. His dark eyes alone were enough to state his intentions, swimming in both hope and vulnerability. Lips parted, trembling, as if mustering the nerve to ask permission, and yet his eyes had done all the talking. She had even replayed the scene dozens of times in her mind, never once envisioning any reality in which she could've said no. And _had_ she turned him away, she'd have spent the rest of her days regretting it more-so than whatever consequences her actions might yield.

 

Another pair of knocks sounded at her door, softly, this time, and immediately recognizable. _Missandei_. Shaking herself from her reverie, Daenerys slipped out of bed, wrapping a sheet clumsily around her form. Her feet and legs protested their sudden use, wobbling and shaking as if she were a child just learning to walk.

 

Missandei's usually stoic demeanor had faltered upon seeing her queen in such a sorry, disheveled state. Daenerys said nothing, simply moving aside enough to let the girl pass through her door before closing and locking it behind them.

 

Rather than give a proper explanation, she shuffled back to her bed rather awkwardly, with zero trace of her usual queenly poise.

 

Her friend stood before her with an aggravating, quizzical glare. Large brown eyes carefully taking inventory, counting the visual cues from both the queen, as well as her messy bed beyond.

 

"We'll get to work on your braids," she finally said. "You'll be expected soon."

 

" _That's it?_ " Daenerys snorted, having expected to be questioned like a prisoner.

 

"What do you mean, Your Grace?" she asked, delicately cradling a comb in her palm.

 

The queen stood, taking a quick glance in her mirror before hobbling over to her chair.

 

"I look a mess," she laughed, sinking into the seat. "Like I've been on Drogon's back for a week."

 

"You look..." Missandei floated toward her before bringing a thumb to the underside of Dany's chin, tilting her head side to side as she inspected her queen. " _Happy_."

 

.  .  .

 

They hadn't spoken a word. Not since she'd opened her door to him, and not even as they broke fast during the small council meeting. The pair hadn't sat together this morning, either, choosing to remain several seats apart. Nevertheless, they had managed to sneak a few brief glances, though neither bothered to display any emotion, either to each other, or to anyone else present, for that matter. In truth, her gaze had fixated more-often on her Hand, Ser Jorah, and even Grey Worm, rather than her northern Warden. Despite this, they'd still garnered a slew of suspicious looks and raised eyebrows.

 

Maddeningly, his form lingered at the edge of her vision throughout the entire meeting, like a stalking shadow, bait for her gaze. Under a curtain of lashes she'd stolen peeks of him, serving only to draw forth images of the body hidden underneath his cloak—honed to perfection, both hard and soft under her fingertips. The memory manifested the phantom burden of his weight on top of her, suddenly compressing her lungs, leaving her short of breath. Bringing her fingertips to her mouth, she nursed the skin he'd rubbed raw with his beard, devouring her lips, and even her tongue, like a starved animal.

 

Most haunting of all—the memory of a momentary lapse in hunger and a broken kiss. His eyes, like anchors, had free-fallen effortlessly before hitting rock-bottom, holding her captive and, _hopefully_ , keeping him from drifting away.

 

As the meeting had been more a formality, with little-to-no true news to discuss, the small cabin emptied out quickly. Staying behind, Daenerys moved toward the window, hoping to catch Jon alone afterward, her curiosity burning to discover his state of mind. Likewise, he stayed seated and still, never peeling his gaze from her boots, even as she paced the room. _How odd_ , she thought, wondering what exactly it was that kept him from meeting her eyes.

 

"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked, after she'd spent several wordless minutes pacing.

 

"I need fresh air."

 

Her Hand had followed her out onto the deck, the wood slippery from a misting fed from both above and below. The sky was draped in a murky covering that teased rain or worse, grey and thick and stealing away with the light of daytime. As the boat teetered over the swollen waves of the water's surface, her stomach lurched, stricken ill with pangs of lust. She sought the aid of the handrail to steady herself, trying to push thoughts of Jon Snow to the recesses of her mind before facing her Hand, certain that her efforts to hide it hadn't fooled anyone this morning, least of all Tyrion Lannister.

 

"You're being _reckless_ ," he said, his usually-plummy voice laced with a stern disdain.

 

Of late, he'd done more harm than good, nurturing her anger as if it were a growing child.

 

"You're giving up everything for the sake of _a man_ ," he pushed again when his first accusation hadn't earned a response.

 

Keeping her tone as flat as she could manage, she turned enough to face him, "Do you remember what it is you said to me just before convincing me to summon him to Dragonstone?"

 

Judging by the way he flinched, she imagined her irritation with him was clear on her face, seeping right into her tone as she continued, "No? I'll refresh your memory, Lord Tyrion. You said ' _I like Jon Snow and I trusted him_ '. What's changed?"

 

Infuriatingly, he looked almost mournful of the words he spoke those months ago. Daenerys staved off juvenile urges to shout at him, to slap him. Instead, she took a moment to weave together her thoughts in a coherent fashion before confronting him again.

 

"What you saw was only a drop in the sea of what lies in wait beyond the Wall. I have the only means with which to take down the threat. The north needs me, and whether or not they accept me yet—they are part of the kingdom I intend to rule."

 

"The northerners—they're _you're people_ already?"

 

"They have been from the moment I decided to cross the narrow sea," she reminded him. Her words were true, and her feelings for Jon Snow had nothing to do with it.

 

"All I ask—is for you not to let your _feelings_ cloud your judgments. Jon Snow should be kissing your feet, _not_ knocking on your door in the middle of the night. You've already put yourself in danger once, and you faced a heavy loss helping aid a fool in his errand."

 

"An errand _you_ suggested, if you need reminding. I do not take Viserion's death in vain. But what's done is done, and it is not Jon Snow's fault. He's done nothing but warn us from the beginning about what's coming. I'd have done well to listen to him then. I intend not to make the same mistake, twice."

 

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, she moved in closer to cut him off, "I appreciate your council, as I always have, as I always will. But you _must_ stop taking it personally when I choose to ignore you. Had I let my _ally_ die beyond the Wall... the threat would not have died with him. Do you truly not understand it? I was foolish enough to believe my dragons were more or less unkillable. I was _certain_ they'd outlive me. That _thing_ beyond the Wall single-handedly took down a _dragon_. What good is a throne with such a monster on the loose?"

 

Tyrion took several moments to digest her words, the pair silently watching the waves rise up as if to greet them before crashing into the hull. Today, the winds had not been so kind.

 

"You once thought your dragons unkillable," he finally said. "I beg you not to fall into the same trap assuming the same of yourself, Your Grace."

 

With that, he had left her alone on the deck. But not for long.

 

Stepping forward just a moment after her Hand's departure, Jon grazed her gloved hand as he grabbed onto the ship's railing beside her. He offered her little more than the comfort of his presence and a small sigh.

 

"How much did you hear?" she asked.

 

"All of it. I was tryin' to get you alone."

 

As she turned to face him, his eyes swept over her body, affecting her like a physical touch. Again, his gaze lingered on her boots, from knee to foot, his lips quivering in that same hungry way.

 

"He knows, then," he simply said.

 

"Jon," she fought the urge to roll her eyes. " _Everyone_ knows. Wasn't it obvious?"

 

His gaze dragged again, from toes to shin, as if admiring the craftsmanship of her footwear.

 

"I'm sorry, Daenerys," he finally said, after having offered little more than a maddening moment of silence.

 

"For what?"

 

 _Finally_ , he'd met her gaze. And there again, alone as they could be on the deck of the ship, his eyes spoke the same truth they had when she'd opened her door to him. Where had it been all day, when she sought comfort or relief, when she'd doubted her actions since the very moment she awoke in bed, _alone?_

 

" _Why_ did you leave this morning?"

 

Rather than wait for his answer, she turned to face the sea, letting her lids fall shut, the winds painting her skin and hair with drizzle as she began again in a whisper, "Whenever I close my eyes, I can still feel your hands on my face and in my hair. Your body on top of me..."

 

"Let's go back there," he quietly suggested, his tone as possessive as his phantom touch. "This time, your eyes will be open."

 

.  .  .

 

The day had grown as dark as night under the threat of a storm, leaving behind a blue-hued haze of dusk. Though this time, when the door shut behind them, Jon made no move to kiss her, no move to tear the stiff dress from her willing body. They merely stood, a few feet apart, exchanging coy glances.

 

"I was a king not long ago," he began just as his legs stirred, stalking a predacious circle around her.

 

After completing his circuit, he brought one quivering hand to her waist, testing the waters before the addition of a second. She couldn't tell what it was that made him tremble. Her best guess, based on her own afflictions, had been either nerves, or perhaps the slow boil of unfettered lust. Maybe both.

 

"But then I met a queen," he breathed against her lips, brushing her nose with his before latching onto her mouth. As they kissed, he rubbed ankles with her, dragging his foot along the leather binding of her boot.

 

All too soon he broke the kiss again, and when their eyes met, she felt the undeniable tug on the anchors he'd left behind, almost physically dragging her straight toward him.

 

"She gave me my life, and in return, I gave her my crown and my sword," he said, wetting his lips with the flick of his tongue. His gaze finding her feet again as he continued, "And anything else I have to give is hers to freely take."

 

Daenerys gulped, his words having reduced her to little more than a blushing maid.

 

"Take a seat, your Grace," he commanded like the king he wasn't, leaving her no choice but to obey.

 

The moment she lowered herself onto her bed, Jon took a knee, even bowing his head before her. The very thing she'd wanted since the day they'd met—and somehow he'd managed to both honor her and make her feel a sudden and shameful silliness at her insistence for this very display.

 

Head still bowed, he then spoke. "Tyrion's right, you know," he said, strangely bringing a second knee to the ground, rather than standing.

 

"As of late, I'd say that sounds _quite_ unlikely," she managed to whisper, already regretting that her words seemed to interrupt the tone of whatever it was he'd been building to.

 

Jon merely smirked, sweeping his eyes over her form until they landed, _again_ , on her boots. _Why won't he just look at me?_ she wondered as he grasped her ankle with his right hand, massaging the joint through the leather.

 

"I should kiss your feet," he breathed, dragging his dirt-stained fingernails over the thin material. "For saving my life."

 

"Don't be ridiculous," she said in a high-pitched and girlish squeak, already feeling the tension pooling uncomfortably within her, just from a simple touch to her ankle. "Besides, I didn't save your life. _I tried to_ , but you wouldn't take my hand."

 

"You _did_ save my life, Your Grace," he challenged, bringing his second hand up to cradle her foot. He palmed the shaft of her boot before loosening the straps that held them up.

 

"Jon..." she warned him, completely unsure whether he was serious or merely joking.

 

Once unraveled, he began to wrench the leather covering from her foot, letting it hit the wood before pushing it aside. He folded her pant leg up and over her knee before scooting closer. Leaning in, he carefully clutched her calf and drew her leg forward. Pressing his face to her shin, he ran his nose along her stocking, his course hairs poking right through the thin fabric and scratching her skin. The air trickled from her lungs slowly, as if they'd been punctured.

 

" _What are you doing?_ " she asked weakly, with whatever breath had remained, tempted to pull her foot away from him, but strangely curious about his intentions or how far he planned to take his little scheme.

 

"Expressing my gratitude," he answered with a smirk, pulling the fabric down and planting a kiss to the newly-exposed skin.

 

Gasping from the touch of his lips below her knee, she watched him, fascinated, as he continued slowly dragging her stocking down, trailing kisses all along her shin, until he'd reached her ankle. Bunching the extra fabric at her toes, he yanked her stocking off in one quick motion, her foot springing free. He bit down softly on her ankle, his beard scratching the tender skin as he massaged her heel with just his fingertips.

 

She couldn't help but cry out, unsure yet whether it had felt pleasurable or agonizing, trying her best to stifle the reflex to kick as he applied kisses all along the top of her foot. Obeying the urge to throw her head back, it was then that Daenerys realized how much she'd actually enjoyed it, even though had tickled—her smallclothes already so damp, it felt like she'd spilled something in her lap.

 

With a self-satisfied smile, Jon went to work removing her second boot, and once she was free of the remaining stocking, he pushed her feet together before elevating them, kissing both of her soles from heel to toe. Dany tried to stay still but it was of little use—she flailed as if fighting to say above water as she endured each gentle nip and caress.

 

Suddenly, he let go of her left foot to concentrate on the right. Starting back at the bottom of her heel, this time his tongue crept over the delicate skin. Just as he reached the arch of her foot, her back contorted in a similar angle as she sobbed with delight—her chest bowed and heaving. Jon stopped long enough to chuckle, before dipping his tongue between her toes.

 

Dany cried out again, somewhere between a sob and a cackle, as she began fighting her way out of the tight constraint of her dress. She writhed and bucked as she undressed, unable to stifle her animalic grunts, though, she hardly cared how far the sound had traveled or who might be listening in beyond the thin walls. Finally, she'd managed to wriggle mostly out of her gown, even managing to unlace her trousers, patiently waiting for Jon to release her foot before stripping them away completely.

 

Using the remaining will she had left, she inverted her curved posture enough to settle on her elbows, appreciating the view as he eagerly took her toes into his mouth, sucking one after the other. With eyes half-crossed from delirium, she growled his name, " _Jon_..."

 

"Yes, _my queen?_ " he asked, still pressing her toes to his lips.

 

"Your gratitude," she panted, "Has been thoroughly expressed..."

 

Jon stood, his face dressed with an impudent grin, "With all due respect, Your Grace, I must disagree. I'm a _very_ thankful man."

 

"Lest you forget," she began, collapsing onto her bed while extending her leg and sneaking her bare foot under the hanging fabric of his tunic, "I am a generous queen, _my lord_."

 

She tried to fondle and grab him with her toes, but he was too rigid and _much_ too thick. Jon drove his teeth straight into his lips, unable to tear his eyes away from his groin, particularly as she added a second foot, this time getting a grip on his erection with the balls of her feet.

 

" _Indeed_ , you are," he groaned his agreement as he clenched his fists at his sides. Though she had wanted him sheathed inside of her terribly, so bad it hurt—she stroked him for a few moments more, as best she could with her awkward appendages. Finally, she couldn't bear the emptiness any longer.

 

"Your queen requires your service, Jon Snow," she said, near-cringing at the ridiculousness of her words, but she thought it best to play along.

 

Grinning wider than she'd ever seen him do, he quickly buried his fingers between her hips and the waistband of her trousers, dragging the dark, coarse linen over her legs.

 

Dany stood, quickly shrugging the remnants of her dress from her body, freeing her arms. Working in tandem with her Warden, she helped hastily strip him of his dull leather trappings. Piece by piece, they fell away, until all that remained was his impeccably chiseled body. Something still hadn't been quite right. After studying him a moment, she pinpointed the problem. _His hair_. Quickly she unraveled it from its tight bun, eliciting a groan of relief from her lover as she ran her fingers over his scalp and through the thick, tangled curls. _So beautiful_ , she nearly swooned at the sight of his freely flowing locks.

 

Rather than bark more orders, she simply guided him to her bed, pushing his scarred-chest down, until he obliged, sinking into her pillows. Having Jon Snow at her disposal had been something of a dilemma. She had wanted to explore every inch of him with her mouth, and yet the fiery ache between her legs had been _too_ strong, threatening a true madness she ought not to wager against. However, she doubted he'd be in any rush to leave her room, and night had yet to fall. _Plenty of time, yet_ , she assured herself.

 

She began to climb atop him, stopping just short of a proper straddling. Furrowing her brow, she was struck with a sudden whim of inspiration, bringing her feet back to the floor.

 

"Your Grace...?" Jon asked, clearly disappointed by her abrupt retreat.

 

Turning on her heel, she made the climb a second time, in reverse. She looked over her shoulder as she hovered just above his groin, her back facing him, now, his dark eyes wide with anticipation. He peeled them away from her gaze as soon as she slipped a hand between her legs, firmly gripping his shaft and guiding him slowly inside of her.

 

Jon exhaled as she sunk down onto him, watching as her cunt swallowed him whole, wedging him right against her womb— _finally_ , the delicious fullness her body had begged for all day. This time, his eyes were free to take in the sight of her, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths as she propped her feet up and onto his stomach.

 

Sitting still, she simply eyed him as he slowly lifted his hands to explore her. Jon dragged his fingernails lightly over her soles, her calves, and even over her round cheeks, going so far as to spread them apart for a better view. Dany couldn't help but gasp, her already-flushed face washed with a fresh coat of red. With a tight grip on her backside, he urged her movements, guiding her hips with his hands and offering a satisfied hum.

 

She rolled her hips with a slow, even rhythm, introducing his cock to her insides at every possible angle she could manage until his hands traveled back down to her soles, his thumbs caressing the arches of her feet. Dany began nearly crying again, fighting the urge to wrench them away from him, feeling the same torrent further permeating her walls as she rode him. His fingers dove between her toes on either foot, thumbs still swirling away at her soft soles until her movements began to falter as a result.

 

Jon abandoned her feet then, pushing them aside as he propped himself up into a sitting position, holding her close to his chest. He clutched her hip with his left hand, letting his right slip between her legs, using his whole palm to massage her sopping, swollen cunt as best he could while bucking against each of her movements with his own. He made sure she finished first, her writhing body urging him to join her. Just as she thought she couldn't take any more, Jon thrust into her a final time, taking a bite out of her shoulder to stifle his grunt as he came.

 

They sat locked together and panting, until his slick fingers traveled further south, pressing her lips together as he pulled out of her—a deliberate action to help trap his seed inside. Though she was sure it was a lost cause, his intention brought a smile to her lips all the same.

 

Holding her close as he collapsed back onto the pillows, he dragged Daenerys down with him, all but refusing to let her go.

 

Once they'd caught their breath, Jon pressed his lips to her forehead. Dany let her fingers graze his chest, careful not to linger on his scars, but careful not to avoid them, either. One day she'd pester him for more information, but now simply wasn't the right time.

 

"I think part of the reason I was so reluctant to bend the knee is I knew I couldn't resist gettin' into those boots of yours, bein' so close to 'em," he purred. It might've even been the longest string of words she'd heard him utter outside of their meetings.

 

"I would _not_ have pegged you for a foot man," she laughed, slightly flushing as she replayed the entire scene in her head. "I admit, I'd catch you stealing glimpses of my chest, so I just assumed..."

 

When she made no effort to finish the thought, Jon cut in, "Well, you _do_ have a good heart, Your Grace. It shows."

 

"So do you, Jon Snow," she said, placing a palm over the crescent-shaped scar just above his heart as she nuzzled into his chest.

 

The room had grown darker since last she'd taken note. As the storm rolled in, the creaking noises from above the deck had gone, replaced by the distant sound of thunder and crashing waves. Jon adjusted his head for a better view of her, stroking her unkempt crown of braids. In exchange, she rubbed her feet against his, intently watching his eyes widen as a result. They passed the time simply staring into each other's eyes as they were prone to do. The boat rocked and swayed, and she might've even been frightened of the storm, had she not have had the safety of his arms in which to retreat.

 


End file.
